


Nothing Else Will Do (I Gotta Have You)

by lynnearlington



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-26
Updated: 2011-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 23:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnearlington/pseuds/lynnearlington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Puck’s certain of exactly two things in life: Cheez Whiz makes everything taste better and Santana Lopez is his soulmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Else Will Do (I Gotta Have You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nightshifted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightshifted/gifts).



Puck’s certain of exactly two things in life: Cheez Whiz makes everything taste better and Santana Lopez is his soulmate. 

The second thing isn’t really something he’d admit in public, because it’d make him sound like a complete pussy, but it doesn’t make it any less true than the Cheez Whiz thing. 

No, seriously. 

Usually he’d never believe in all that gay romantic bullshit like soulmates and crap, but whatever; he watched a lot of dumb chick flick movies when Quinn was living with him and yeah, he’s man enough to admit that Santana’s totally his person. 

He’s always know that Santana was different than the girls he usually fucked, but it took him forever to figure out why. Now, at seventeen, it’s like he’s got a name for it which is kinda sick, no lies. Everyone gets to have a person, right? So it only makes sense that Santana’s his. She's the only girl he's never wanted to run away from. 

If he’d been paying attention he’d have figured it out after the first time she blows him. It’s not that she totally sucks cock like she was born to do it, or that when he comes, she swallows like a motherfucking champ without complaining. No, it’s because when she’s done, standing and swiping her thumb across her lips, she smirks at him and murmurs in the sexiest voice of all time, “This doesn’t mean we’re dating, hear?” 

Yeah, pretty sure that’s the moment when he realizes they’re made for each other even if he doesn’t acknowledge it. 

Doesn’t matter anyway because they end up spending all of high school falling in love with everyone but each other. S’fine. It just makes her the best fuck buddy in the history of life - she doesn’t cramp his style, she’s a freak in the sack and she almost never turns him down. 

By the time Puck figures out she’s his soulmate - on a Tuesday afternoon while eating chocolate pudding stark naked in his kitchen - Santana’s chasing after someone else. He considers telling her about his awesome realization, but he knows she’ll just laugh him off. Plus, if he's gonna end up settling down with one chick, he'd like to get as much ass as he can before they get to the big happy ending. 

So he doesn't tell her. Whatever, she’ll figure it out eventually. 

That’s how these things work in all those crappy movies anyway. 

\--

He doesn’t consider that he’s going to have to live without her for a while until the summer after they graduate high school, two weeks before they’re both meant to leave for college. 

They haven’t fucked in months for no other reason than she recently decided to try the relationship thing out for a while and once summer started he was back to the milf rotation. 

But she shows up at his house one night with a bottle of tequila and a bag from Taco Bell, asking him if he wants to go out to this old abandoned field where they used to hang out as kids. He doesn’t hesitate. 

“I leave next week,” she says, breaking the silence of the night. She tips the bottle of tequila against her lips before setting it down in the grass. 

He stuffs the last of his taco in his mouth and glances at her. “Yeah?” 

When she looks at him it’s the most serious she’s ever looked and he’s not really sure what to do with it. “Yeah.” 

“Cali, right?” 

She nods. 

He hadn’t really thought about it before, hadn’t thought about how California was on the other side of the country and how this was probably the last night they had together for a long time. He doesn’t get sappy about it because he’s  _not_  a sappy person, but he’s suddenly desperate to touch her. 

Turns out she’s on the same page. “I’m thinking we should probably fuck.” 

Do you see what he means about Santana being his soulmate? It’s shit like this right here. 

“I’m thinking you’re a fucking genius, babe.” He smirks. 

When she pushes him into the grass, she’s laughing, but he stops the sound with his lips. The taste of tequila on her tongue is intoxicating, and the feel of her hips pressing down against his has him hard after mere seconds of making out. 

It’s not long before he’s rolling them over, a hand behind her head and the other making quick work of her shorts. She’s got a hand in his back pocket, fishing for his wallet and dropping it into the grass beside them as she bites down on his lower lip and wraps her leg around his hip. 

He’s been with more girls than he can count, but none of them quite live up to what it’s like with Santana’s hands on him, her legs hooked around him and her teeth against his jaw. 

Nimble fingers work open the buttons on his board shorts before she’s pushing them off him with her feet and he’s kicking them to the side. When they’re finally naked from the bottom down he pulls back and looks at her, spreading her legs by slowly running his hands up the insides of her thighs. 

He fingers her all soft and slow in a way he knows she  _hates_ , curling up and in ever so often, but never for long enough. Her hips try to move faster against his hand, and her forehead is all scrunched up in frustration. He presses a kiss against her neck as his thumb rubs circles over her clit and laughs when she kicks her heel against his back. 

“Don’t be an asshole,” she orders, her nails biting into the skin at the back of his neck. 

Problem is he  _is_  an asshole, so he pulls his fingers out of her and just smirks when she looks like she might seriously kill him. “Shut up and take it, bitch,” he jokes. She keeps glaring at him, but her lips quirk up a little at the corner when he winks at her. 

He could totally make her come right now, but he’s selfish and his dick is aching to be inside her so he puts his mouth against hers and thrusts down against her, moaning at the sensation of warm wet flesh against him. 

Without breaking the kiss, Santana manages to fish into the wallet she dropped into the grass earlier to grab the condom he has stashed there. She bites open the package with her teeth because her other hand is gripping his cock and he can’t help but groan at the feeling of her hands on him. She’s sliding a fucking condom on him and he swears he could come right now. It’s totally embarrassing, but he kind of loves how it makes her smile and laugh against his lips. 

He takes a deep breath because he’s Noah fucking Puckerman and he’s got stamina, okay? No way is he coming before his girl does. Pushing her hands away, he runs the tip of his dick over her a few times because it always pulls this hot little sound of out her mouth before he’s sliding inside her and they’re both moaning into a kiss. He rolls his hips around until she’s gripping the small of his back to pull him in tighter. 

There’s something to be said for fucking the same girl more than once. Santana knows all the tricks, knows exactly what buttons to push and when. Her nails are back to digging into his back and her thighs are squeezing his hips as she cants up towards him in time with his thrusts. 

She’s got this opened mouthed grin on her face like this is the best thing she’s ever felt and she’s panting warm breath against his lips where his face is hovered over hers. His hand grips the outside of her thigh, pulling it up towards her chest and she exhales sharply when he slides in deeper, licking her lips. 

He feels her hand slide between them to play with her clit, but he swats it away, laughing when she smacks him in response. 

“Do it or I will,” she threatens. 

“Have I ever left you hangin’?” 

She’s scoffing at him, but his fingers are flicking against her before she can speak again, and he watches with a self satisfied smirk as her eyes roll back a little. 

It’s ridiculous how much he fucking loves being inside her. He thrusts down hard and kisses her, pumping his hips and moving his fingers as fast as he can. His muscles are beginning to give out, but he’s so close and he can tell she is too. He can feel her whole body start to tighten up, as her breathing get steadily shallower. She’s close, but she’s not there yet and he really needs her to come before he’s beating her to the punchline. 

“Fucking come already,” he bites out, and she laughs at him. 

He snaps his hips,moves his fingers in a different direction, speeds them up and her laughter cuts out. With a small cry against his lips, her whole body jerks and he feels her tightening around him. 

“Finally,” he sighs, moving his fingers away from her so he can plant his hands on the ground near her shoulders. It gives him the leverage he needs, and it’s not long before he’s burying his face in her neck and emptying himself inside her. 

They’re still for long moments as they both try and catch their breath. After he’s finally sucking air into his lungs at a slow even pace, he feels her hand patting him on the back. 

He lifts up a little because she weighs like ten pounds and he realizes he’s probably crushing her. Hovering above her, he pulls his dick out slowly and loves the way her face reacts, the skin around her eyes crinkling just a little bit and her lips pushing together. He manages to slip the condom off and chuck it into the field with one hand because he has mad skills like that. 

“Good job,” she says when he’s done, quirking an eyebrow at him. “I give it a seven.” 

“Bitch please, that was at least a nine.” 

“For effort maybe. Execution, no.” 

“Fucking hate you,” he laughs out, rolling to his side and dropping into the grass beside her. 

“We have any tacos left?” 

They’re both laughing at that point, but he hands her the leftover tacos and pulls the tequila bottle towards him. The rest of the night is spent passing the tequila bottle between each other and fooling around. He fucks her twice more - once because he tells her he can totally do better than a seven and she just says, “Prove it,” and then again because she bends over to pick her shorts up and he can’t help himself. 

He’s gonna pay for it in the morning, but she comes so loudly the third time that he knows it’ll be worth it. 

When he drops her off at the end of the night, she leans across the console in his truck and kisses him firmly before getting out.

It’s the first time in a long time that she’s ever kissed him like that - after sex and for no other purpose beyond kissing.

He kind of wishes it didn’t feel like goodbye, but he’s not pathetic enough to say as much. She’s gotta do her thing and he’s gotta do his thing. He’s going to college where there are  _co-eds_  everywhere and he’s seen enough porn to know what it’s going to be like. 

They’ll fuck their way back to each other eventually. 

\--

They end up on opposite sides of the country after college. He’d probably be more depressed about it if he wasn’t so sure it’d work out. 

Every dumb chick flick ever made, every sappy ass story ever written tells him that they’ll end up together when it’s all said and done. What’s meant to be will be and all that crap. 

He fucks around a lot because women in this city are way easier than they were in high school, but he never commits to any of them. He doesn't need to look for anything other than a quick lay each night because there's this girl on the other side of the country that he's waiting on. 

And okay, maybe that makes him sound like he suddenly grew a vagina, but he's getting his dick wet nearly every night inside some of the hottest chicks his part of town has to offer and Santana fucking Lopez is waiting for him at the end of the tunnel. Call him a pussy all you want, but his life is awesome. 

\--

When she shows up at his door almost a decade after high school, he’s not surprised. In fact he pretty much crosses his arms and smirks all _bout time, bitch_  like. 

The only thing he’s not expecting is how she’s sopping wet from the rain, and she’s carrying three bags over her shoulder and a cardboard box.

“Hey,” is all she ways before pushing her way inside and dropping her luggage onto the wooden floor of his entryway. 

“Long time,” he laughs. They’ve kept in touch over the years, even hooked up a few times whenever they ended up in the same city, but he hasn’t really occupied the same space with her like this in a long time. 

“I need a place to stay.” 

“So you thought it’d be cool to crash my bachelor pad?”

“Shut up, I need a place to stay and you have one so deal with it.” 

He shrugs and then eyes the stuff sitting at her feet. “Sup?” 

The only explanation she gives is, “I’m moving to the city. Got a job.”

Her shit is dripping water all over his floors, but he doesn’t really care because he just noticed how her shirt is clinging to her chest - her tits look just as awesome as he last remembers them - and she’s swiping wet hair off her forehead, licking her lips as she looks at him. 

What happens next is what always happens next. 

He tastes the rain on her lips as he runs his hands through her soaking hair, her chest pressing against his own. 

Her fingers are clutching the back of his shirt and pulling up, so he breaks away from her to rip it over his head, chucking it across the room before scooping an arm under her ass and lifting her up. She wraps her legs around his waist and her arms around her neck and then they’re kissing again as he tries to make it across the wooden floor. 

It’s a little difficult because he’s distracted by her hair falling on his face, and her teeth pulling on his bottom lip, so he only makes it to his kitchen instead of his bedroom like he intended. 

He bends her over the kitchen table and fucks her from behind like he’s dreamt of doing for months. His hand tangles in her hair and pulls her head back, and her face turns just enough for him to see the happy open mouthed grin on her face. 

“Fucking missed this,” he murmurs against the cool skin of her shoulder. 

“Less talking, more fingers on my clit,” she grunts out, pushing her ass harder against him. 

She comes with shaking legs and a cry into the wooden top of the table under her and he’s only seconds behind, collapsing on her back with a groan. 

They fall to the ground haphazardly until she’s spread across his chest, breathing heavily. “M’hungry,” she mumbles after a few moments. 

“We’re in the kitchen.” 

“Make me food, dick.” 

“Eat me, bitch.” 

They both start laughing and he really can’t help it if he’s kissing her again, rolling her over onto the cold tiles and fitting himself between her hips. She’s the girl the rest of them never live up to and she’s here. 

\--

“It’s just for a week,” she says later when they’re sprawled out on his kitchen floor, a tub of rocky road ice cream, and a half-empty bottle of tequila between them. 

He shrugs. “Stay as long as you want.” 

\--

Two weeks later she’s still there. Three weeks, still there. A year goes by and she just never leaves. 

They sort of fall into dating though they never really define it. They just keep screwing and spending all their time together and he’s not sleeping with anyone else. She isn’t either. They live together, so he’d know. 

He thinks about picking a girl up at the bar just to dick with her, but she still kind of scares him. He’s not sure he wants to take the chance of pissing her off when she knows where he sleeps all night and has access to like really sharp cutlery and shit. 

Then, like a fucking woman, he accidentally calls her his girlfriend one day while they’re at the bar. Whatever. He’s had like seven Jack and Cokes, and that dude Santana works with totally cops a feel while Puck’s grabbing them another round of drinks so he has to say  _something._  

Something ends up being, “Back up off my girlfriend, you dick.” 

It works, the guy totally high tails it away from them, but Santana’s looking at him like he just told the whole bar he likes to wear women’s underwear and sing showtunes on his kitchen table. 

He looks around for a second before asking, “What?” 

She just stares at him with this look on her face he can’t quite read before shaking her head and grabbing her drink from his right hand. 

That night she totally lets him fuck her on the balcony of their bedroom like he’s been wanting to for months. It’s definitely not the most scandalous place they’ve ever had sex, but there’s the strangest smile on her face when she comes, something different about the way she whispers his name, all soft and sure. 

It’s not until the next morning that he realizes what he said, the night replaying in his mind. 

Santana’s not like most girls. She hates all that boyfriend-girlfriend you’re my woman bullshit, so he can’t figure out why it feels like she _rewarded_  him for it. 

\--

“You’re not fucking other dudes, right?” He's afraid he might punch something just thinking about it. 

They’re in the kitchen eating breakfast. Santana’s wearing the shirt he had on the night before and sipping coffee while perched on the counter while he spoons cereal into his mouth, standing across from her in just sweat pants. 

“What?” 

“I’m not fucking other chicks,” he says, setting his bowl down and crossing his arms over his bare chest. He leans back against the counter behind him and shrugs. “Just FYI.” 

“Good for you,” she says slowly, looking at him like he’s mentally damaged. 

“I just want to make sure we’re on the same page or whatever because if you're fucking other guys, I'm depriving the world of my cock for no good reason.” 

“The same page.” Her eyebrows are reaching up to her hairline and she looks like she wants to laugh. 

“Yeah, I’m not screwing around with other women even though I totally could be."

The expression on her face is caught somewhere between amusement and irritation, but he keeps his own features neutral until she finally just laughs and rolls her eyes. 

“Yeah well good thing because you’re my,” she trips up on her words which is something she never does. Rolling her eyes, she jumps down off the counter and puts her empty cup down. 

“You’re my boyfriend, dickhead.” 

It’s not like he likes that word any more than she does. He can’t count how many times he’s refused to let girls call him that, but when it drops out of Santana’s mouth it sounds sexy in a way that makes him want to push her up against their kitchen cabinets and rip open the shirt she’s wearing. “Whatever,” he manages to say, shrugging indifferently. "We don't have to label this shit I was just making conversation." 

When she walks past him, she swats the back of her hand against his stomach before kissing him warmly. “Make me waffles so I don’t have to blow you on an empty stomach.” 

That’s really the only conversation they ever have about it. If he makes her waffles with a stupid ass grin on his face it’s only because he loves the way Santana looks in his clothes and he’s thinking about her lips around his cock. 

\--

They fight like crazy because yeah she’s his soulmate, but she’s also  _crazy_  and they’re not perfect or anything. 

If he’s really honest he kind of totally gets off on fighting with her. That glare she perfected in high school is like the hottest thing he’s ever seen and even though she looks like she wants to stab him with a rusty knife, all he can think about is her nails running down his back and his lips on her neck. 

He thinks she kind of likes it too because when he gives her an apologetic finger fuck after one particularly nasty fight, she comes with a gasped  _fuck I hate you_  that sounds a lot like  _I love you._

\--

They never really say  _I love you_  because it’s not their style, and he really doesn’t care. Puck knows she loves him. It’s the little things that tell him as much. 

In the morning before she’s really awake, she kisses him all soft and sweet, her lips turned into a smile. When he comes home super drunk from the bar because ‘one more’ turned into five more, she makes him grilled cheese and lets him get to second base on the floor of their kitchen before he passes out. On his birthday, she takes him to a strip club and whispers the raunchiest things ever in his ear while he watches the dancers. 

It’s basically awesome. Seriously. If more relationships were like his, he’s pretty sure dudes wouldn’t run away screaming from them all the time. 

The best is the chick she drunkenly seduces into a threesome. It’s all because Santana fucking rags on his skills one night. Just because he’s basically only fucking her these days doesn’t mean he’s lost the old Puckerone touch. He could pick girls up with his eyes closed. 

But Santana’s insisting otherwise because she’s a bitch like that and they’re at the bar around the corner from their place so there’s a considerable amount of cheap whiskey in both their systems. Sometime after his fifth shot of Jack, but before they started with the B-52s, a bet gets placed. First person to convince a girl to come home with them wins. 

They don’t really say  _what_  the winner gets, but later that night when he’s balls deep inside a stranger and Santana’s kissing him while she sits on the chick’s face, he figures it was win-win to begin with. 

\--

Exactly a year after the day she came into his apartment asking for a place to stay, she sexts him the entire day with some of the dirtiest shit he’s ever read. When he gets home she’s naked on the kitchen table, fingers already at work between her legs. 

“Started without me?” His jacket is already dropping to the floor, his fingers moving to unbutton his pants as fast as he can. 

She shrugs, her head falling back a little on her shoulders and lips parting. “You were late.” 

He watches her for a few seconds because who the fuck wouldn’t? His girl is fingering herself on his kitchen table no way he doesn’t milk that for all its worth. 

“What’s the occasion?” he asks, running his hands down her thighs and pulling her legs apart so he can fit between them. 

She looks up at him, her fingers still moving inside herself, knuckles brushing over his cock ever so often. It’s long moments before she answers him, her free hand gripping his bicep and pulling him closer. “Just happy.” 

He looks at her tits, a flush spread over her chest before pulling his gaze down between them and laughing. “You’re about to be, baby.” 

\--

They don’t get married because neither of them believe in it. They’ve both seen the bad side of getting hitched and he doesn’t need a ring to know that’s it gonna be him and Santana against the world for forever. 

Then one day while they’re fooling around in bed, he reaches for a condom in the table to his right and she stops him. Like whips her hand out to grab his like a ninja and pulls him back to bed with a shake of her head. 

They’re hyper strict about this shit, so to say he’s surprised is kind of an understatement. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she whispers. 

Uh, he pretty much  _never_  wants to. He’d fuck her bareback every single night if he could; she'd feel amazing around him - all hot and soft and wet. If he wasn’t so paranoid about shit that happened to him over a decade ago he’d try to seduce her into it way more often. 

But an offer to bareback her into oblivion isn’t the only thing on the table here and he knows it right away. 

“San,” he breathes out, sagging into her hips a little as he stares curiously into her eyes. 

“Just...” she shrugs, puts on this nonchalant look he’s been able to see through for years. “Whatever you want.” 

He thinks about it, really thinks about it and stares at this girl under him, this woman he’s planned to spend forever with since he was a kid. 

He must think about it for way too long because she’s suddenly rolling her eyes and punching him in the bicep. “Don’t make a thing about it, you pussy.” 

“Shut up,” he says quickly. “Shut up.” 

Her jaw snaps shut and she swallows thickly, the motion audible in the silence of their bedroom. 

“You’d really want that?” His brow scrunches up. “With me?” 

She laughs at that, her hands gripping his cheeks. “Who the fuck else?” 

“Yeah?” 

She rolls her eyes at him, but presses a hard kiss against his lips. “Are we gonna screw here or what?” 

“Don’t be a bitch, this shit is serious.” 

“Ugh, whatever, I’m leaving.” 

She makes a move to get out from under him, but he holds her to the bed. “Fuck no,” he laughs. “I’m about to fuck you raw here so fucking stay where you are.” 

This little gasp drops out of her almost inaudibly. She doesn’t say anything though, just quirks her eyebrow up at him. 

He smiles crookedly. “Gonna knock you up so hard, baby.” 

“Ew, did you really just say that?” 

“Yup,” he says easily. “S’what you want don’t fucking play right now.” 

“That is like the most unsexy shit I have ever heard in bed,” she replies, but she’s laughing. 

She’s still laughing when he kisses her, but he stops it with swift fingers running up between her legs. 

“You’re the one that started it with the  _come impregnate me_  eyes,” he smirks, breaking away to pull his shirt off. 

“Okay I’m gonna need you to stop talking before I realize what a dumbass idea it is to want to have your kids.” 

With the words out there like that, he kind of forgets to breathe for a second. He takes her words to heart and shuts up, putting his lips back on hers. 

He fucks her softer and sweeter than he ever has before and when she comes it’s with a soft  _I love you_  in his ear. Only a few seconds pass before he’s whispering it back into her hair. 

\--

She forces him to marry her. No joke. 

First she fucking has his kid.

It’s...he can’t describe it. Puck doesn’t know how to deal with his shit anymore because Santana Lopez is in a hospital bed holding this little blue bundle and it’s  _his_. He gets to keep the little bastard. 

Then she decides to be this hilariously awesome mom. Like who said that was okay? 

She’s in the kitchen with their six year old and she’s seriously teaching him the miracles of Cheez Whiz. He’s not even joking about this shit. 

The image isn’t something he’ll ever forget either. She’s in this killer dress, tits practically falling out of it and short enough that Puck can’t decide what he wants to stare at more - her chest or her legs. She’s got massive heels on and her hair is pulled up off her neck and he’d really like their son to fuck off somewhere before Puck totally scandalizes him. 

So she’s basically dripping sex right now, except she’s holding a white can of Cheez Whiz in one hand and she’s helping their kid spread it over his finger in a long orange line and that really should be a turn off except well...

All he can think about right now is how there are two people in this room with the same last name and he'd really like to make it three. 

He closes the distance between them and plucks the can out of her hand, spraying a little of it straight into his mouth and laughing when Santana makes a disgusted sound like what she was doing earlier was so much less gross. 

“Amanda’s here,” he says when he’s swallowed and his son bolts out of the room towards the entryway to greet their babysitter. 

Santana crosses her arms over her chest and leans a hip against the kitchen counter, watching him as he takes another spray of Cheez Whiz. 

“Enjoying yourself?” 

He scoffs. “Obviously.” 

Shaking her head, she laughs at him, taking the can from his hand and setting it on the counter next to her. “We gotta go.” 

Just as she’s moving around him he snags an arm around her waist and pulls them back together. 

“Marry me,” he mumbles against her lips. 

She jerks away, looks at him like he’s crazy and laughs. “What?” 

He shrugs. “Been thinking you should marry me.” 

She’s still laughing which is probably not a good sign and for the first time he’s kind of nervous. He should not be nervous. This chick has lived with him for almost a decade, she popped out his kid, she tells him she loves him like all the time now and there’s no way he should be worried about her answer here. 

Except she’s not saying yes like she’s supposed to and instead she’s deadpanning, “Are you kidding me?” 

He plays it cool even though his stomach is kind of turning over. He’s pretty much believed in them all his life, no point in stopping now. “Whatever, don’t act like you don’t want me to wife the shit out of you.” 

“What does that even mean?” It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no, so he’s still cooking with fire here. 

“Marry me,” is all he says, voice low and commanding. 

Way too much time passes in silence and Puck’s seriously about to go all caveman on her ass about it, but just as he opens his mouth she pulls away from him, and rolls her eyes. “It’s about damn time,” she says, walking away. Her heels click loudly against the floor of their kitchen. “Buy me a damn diamond,” she throws over her shoulder, glancing at him just long enough to wink. 

She’s a bitch for making him think she’d say no. 

“I hate you,” he laughs out.

She flips him off without turning around, but he knows it means  _I love you too, asshole_. 

In that moment two certainties occur to him: Cheez Whiz is still the greatest food invention of all time, and Santana Lopez is  _perfect._


End file.
